Sir Philip said, “You will not be able to traverse the grassland on either side of the road. The Scots have dug pits there and covered them. And you cannot attack from the western flank as Bruce has barricaded the trails in the New Park.”
“What about going around the barricades?”
Mowbray shook his head. “The undergrowth is much too thick for man or beast. The Scottish forces are drawn up in the front of the forest and can retreat north at will.”
“Then perhaps my nephew, the Earl of Gloucester, should take the vanguard and advance aggressively against them from the east. That should drive them into the woods where they will be trapped.”
“Aye, that will work, especially if you also send a party along the edge of the carse to position themselves north of the Scots and cut off their retreat.”
Edward agreed. “Clifford, take six hundred knights along the eastern flatland and make your way north. When you see Gloucester attack, move in for the kill.”
The Earl of Hereford spoke up. “My lord, as high constable it is my right to lead the army—therefore I should be the one to lead the vanguard, not the Earl of Gloucester.”
“Now see here,” Gloucester argued. “I’ve been training with these men and they are used to my leadership.”
“Still, what’s right is right and—”
“Gentlemen,” Edward bellowed. “You may command the van jointly. Just get it done. If you perform well, this will be a short battle and we can retire to Stirling and Sir Philip’s hospitality this evening.”
Refreshed by the thought of a quickly won engagement, they began to disperse when Gloucester said, “Your Majesty. May I suggest that should our tactics today not result in defeat of the enemy, we should rest our men and beasts for twenty-four hours before re-engaging the Scots?”
“You may suggest it but I don’t think it’s warranted. We will crush them, today or tomorrow.”
“But—”
“That will be all, Gloucester.”
Rodney saw the look on Gloucester’s face as he pivoted and retreated from what could only be called a humiliating exchange. They all knew of his quick temper in combat, and Rodney thought Edward had handled the man carelessly. Edward was obviously in an uncharitable mood; Rodney made as if to leave as well.
“Not you,” Edward growled, holding Rodney’s arm. Fighting his anxiety, Rodney stayed behind while the others left and soon stood alone before his angry king.
“Carleton, you have failed to bring Lady de Lindsay under our rule; failed to trap Bruce or his ill-conceived spawn. And while you did manage to learn about the weapons Bruce bought from who knows where, you failed to intercept them before they reached Stirling.”
“Yes, I’m—”
“And you have yet to give me a good excuse for that last failure.”
“They—”
“Don’t bother. Bring me Mackintosh’s head or do not return to London.” Edward pivoted on his heel and marched to his waiting horse.
This was all Kathryn’s fault. At every turn the woman had managed to thwart Rodney’s plans. All of his life people had succumbed to his handsome face and considerable charm. Why hadn’t she? Ah, but she would be his, perhaps before this day was over.
Rodney mounted his horse and cantered after Gloucester and Hereford and the English vanguard. He would kill Mackintosh, capture the man’s wife and make her his once and for all. With the Scottish rebels defeated, she would come quietly for once.
He caught up to the van as they emerged from the Torwood. Sir Henry de Bohun rode some fifty yards in front of them on his destrier and in full armor. As Rodney rode through a last belt of trees on the north bank of the stream, he saw a lone rider apparently inspecting the Scottish troops that were half hidden behind fortifications on the edge of the New Park.
Rodney strained to make out the man’s identity. He rode a small, gray palfrey, and it wasn’t until the sunlight gleamed on his helmet that Rodney recognized him. Luck was with the English.
De Bohun must have recognized the rider, too, because he couched his spear and charged.
FOURTEEN
KATHRYN AND ANNA made bandages from cloth Bryan had sent from Homelea while Fergus went to the main camp for news. When he returned in late afternoon, Kathryn bade him escort her to the creek for water. He was full of excitement about the things he’d learned and listening to him, Kathryn became enthralled. She set her bucket of water down beside the tent and said, “You must take me to where I can observe the battle preparations for myself.” When he didn’t answer, she pleaded, “Please?”
“Don’t know why ye need to know anything more about it. Mind yer healing and leave the fighting to the men,” he grumbled.
“Aye. And that I intend to do. But what harm can it be to see where the battle will take place? And perhaps I can recommend a good location for the hospital.”
He muttered something that sounded like “confounded female” before saying, “Ye’re not going to work in the hospital. Ye’re to remain here—Sir Bryan’s orders—so that if need be, I can spirit ye north to the Mackintosh stronghold at Moy.”
She touched his sleeve. “Soon I will watch loved ones fight. I need to know what is happening, so that if an opportunity to affect the outcome presents itself, I can help.”
“Ye’ll not be doing any fighting if I want to keep my hide. Bryan will skin me for sure—”
“Tell me what you know,” she wheedled.
He huffed his breath then stared her in the eye. “They say the English supply train stretches twenty miles long,” he told her.
“Twenty miles? How is that possible?”
“I heard there were one hundred and ten wagons drawn by oxen and another one hundred or so pulled by teams of horses.”
Kathryn bowed her head. Only an invincible army would need such a huge quantity of supplies. Her excitement quickly shifted to dread. “When will the fighting begin?”
“Tomorrow, I suspect.”
Tomorrow Bryan, Thomas, and Adam would face this foe. Maybe if Fergus could tell her more about how Bruce planned to fight it would ease her mind. “Did you hear of the battle plans? Can you show me the layout of the field?”
“Aye,” he said with a sigh. “Come along.” They walked to the top of the hill and as they did, Fergus explained, “About three thousand of our men arrived late and will be held in reserve, since they’ve not been trained. They will remain with ye and the other camp followers here, behind Gillies Hill.”
She smiled at Fergus’s reminder yet again of Bryan’s order. She and Anna would pack in anticipation of a hasty departure as Bryan had ordered. They had even devised a sling for Isobel so that Fergus could carry her on horseback. But she had no intention of sitting in front of her tent waiting for news. She would carry a pouch of medical supplies and help her wounded countrymen as soon as it was safe.
When they reached the top of the rise, Fergus pointed south to where Bruce had placed his troops along the hillside of the New Park. The Scots straddled the ancient Roman road that ran from Edinburgh north to Stirling Castle. That mighty fortress stood on a large cliff to the north of the carseland where the battle would most likely take place.
He pointed toward Stirling. “You see the road there where it dips to the north?”
She nodded.
“Just past the dip is a deep gully and bog. No access there, especially for heavy cavalry. Robert will place his men to the left of the road in that grassy meadow. The meadow on the right ends in a steep bank which drops down into marshland.”
“So Edward cannot go around and advance from that direction, either.” Kathryn smiled.
“Ye always were quick at yer learnin’,” he said approvingly. “And the forest behind us prevents an advance from the west.”
“So, the English must proceed up the road and take position to attack from the east.”
“Aye, and if they venture too far on either side of the road, they’ll find the pits we’ve dug and filled with im
paling sticks.”
Kathryn shuddered at the image, glad the English hadn’t had time to prepare such a welcome for Bryan and Cerin. “I know nothing of strategy, but it would seem Bruce has prepared well, don’t you think?”
“Aye, now all we need is a wee bit of luck.”
From their vantage on the hill, Kathryn could see the approach of what appeared to be a few hundred of the vaunted English cavalry as they emerged from the Torwood. Each knight was clad in chain mail covered with a surcoat. The huge horses advanced, their manes and tails and colorful trappings flapping in the breeze. Most of the riders carried a twelve-foot lance and a battle axe. Each knight was surrounded by a squire and several mounted men at arms.
Kathryn imagined a charge by these formidable horsemen could make the bravest man reverse direction and run. How could men afoot possibly withstand such a force?
The horses crossed the meadow that sloped down to the Bannock Burn, whose swift flowing water rippled in the sunlight. Sunlight gleamed off armor. Kathryn knew the shining, heavy metalwork would provide a much better safeguard than Bryan’s chain mail and leather hauberk. And many of the other Scots wore less protection than that. Most had shields made of wickerwork, a leather or metal helmet, heavy quilted gambesons on their upper body, and not much else.
The advancing English contracted into a narrow column as they approached the ford of the stream where Kathryn and her group had crossed just yesterday. The first knight to cross the stream was clad in full metal armor and mounted on a powerful horse. His companions remained some distance behind him, slowly navigating the streambed.
A lone rider emerged from the woods on the Scottish side of the stream apparently intent on inspecting the Scottish troops, who were half-hidden in the woodland. With an intake of breath, Kathryn noted the circlet of gold on his helmet and knew it had to be King Robert—alone and unprotected—riding a small, gray palfrey. In his right hand he held a battle-axe, his only other protection the chain mail and hauberk under his surcoat.
The English knight must have recognized Bruce, for he couched his lance and spurred his horse toward the king. Bruce looked up and sat his horse, making no movement whatsoever.
“Run, my laird,” Kathryn shouted, to no avail. “Why doesn’t he run for the safety of the trees?” But Fergus seemed to be struck speechless by the sight.
Turn the horse around, my laird, quickly. If the other man, better mounted and armed, continued the attack, Bruce would surely be injured or killed and the Scots’ cause would be finished before it began.
As she bit a fingernail to the quick, Fergus recovered and answered her question. “He can’t back down from a fight. He’s won nearly a hundred tournaments—can’t very well turn and run in front of men willing to give their lives for him and his cause.”
Apparently Bruce had every intention of engaging the knight despite the odds, for he cantered toward the heavily armored Englishman.
Kathryn held her breath, wanting to avert her gaze, yet captivated by the spectacle before her. She watched in horror as Bruce on his small palfrey cantered straight for the thundering war-horse and certain death.
Then, at the last moment, Bruce swerved his nimble horse to one side and stood in his stirrups, chopping down with such force that the head of his axe remained impaled in the knight’s helm. The man toppled from his horse and lay unmoving on the ground. Bruce spun his horse about and rode toward his own men, still holding the severed handle. Stunned, Kathryn sank to the ground.
The Scottish forces emerged from the trees, cheering their leader.
The English cavalry now charged the Scottish position, and some of their horses fell squealing into the hidden pits, creating a great deal of confusion. Another wild cry erupted from the Scots as they climbed over their fieldworks and rushed at the now disorganized English cavalry.
Kathryn recognized the Earl of Gloucester—Bruce’s cousin— by the crest on his surcoat. She saw his horse stumble, hurling the earl to the ground. His squires rescued him and put him on another horse before they all fled the field.
Bruce waved off his men, sending them back to their lines within the woods and effectively ending the skirmish. The English retreated and Kathryn, shaken by what she’d seen, returned with Fergus to their camp. There they recounted what they’d seen to Anna.
Apparently the first round of this battle went to the outnumbered Scots. The English would no doubt be angry at Bruce’s killing of one of their best knights in such a fashion and would want to avenge their honor. Tomorrow Bryan, his squire Thomas, and Adam would face those same Englishmen, and the thought made Kathryn weep.
BRYAN—ALONG WITH BRUCE’S BROTHER EDWARD, Bruce’s nephew Thomas Randolph, and the other division commanders— had watched in horror as their king spurred his pony toward the armored English knight. Now Bruce rode toward them, still clutching the severed axe handle and looking at it as if he didn’t believe he’d ruined a perfectly good weapon.
They crowded around Robert, railing at him for taking such an unnecessary chance. Bruce shifted away from them and surveying the land, pointed to the east.
“Look there.”
A body of English cavalry under Sir Robert Clifford had appeared to the north and east, leaving the cover of the stream bank that had hidden them until now. They were headed toward Randolph’s division of five hundred spearmen who guarded the road leading to Stirling. If the English got past Randolph’s men, they would take away Bruce’s ability to retreat and force him into a fight he wasn’t sure he wanted to engage in.
Adam was one of the men under Randolph’s command. When Randolph spurred his horse and raced to join his men, Bryan raced after him. The division needed its commander if it was to be successful. Bryan and Randolph reached the Scots just as Adam saw the approaching cavalry come into view and began to marshal his comrades into a schiltron, a square made up of rows of men, all holding spears and facing outward.
While Adam took up his spear and joined the ranks, Bryan and Randolph rode their horses into the middle of the square before it closed ranks. With their backs to one another they could relay information back and forth. Randolph gave the order for the square to advance. They positioned themselves at the point where the road narrowed and where the English cavalry would have to pass to reach the castle behind the Scots.
Men on foot had no hope against heavy cavalry unless they massed together for strength and protection. The schiltron was the only way to have any chance of success.
The English halted, evidently wanting the schiltron to move closer toward them so the horses could maneuver around it. Bryan cried out to Randolph, and he gave the order to halt. Then one of the English knights charged into the Scots’ formation and others followed. Horses, speared by the spikes, fell and hurtled their riders to the ground. The schiltron held and the English losses were for nothing.
The English, unaware that Randolph’s spearmen guarded the road, had attacked without being accompanied by archers, the schiltron’s greatest enemy. Only arrows shot into the air and then falling into the ranks of spearmen could break down a well-disciplined schiltron, and today, luck was on the side of the Scots. The cavalry was reduced to circling the Scots, heaving their axes and swords and maces in frustration. Every now and then one of the spearmen would lunge from formation and stab a horse so it fell to the ground, leaving its heavily armored rider at the mercy of his enemy.
The sun grew hotter, the dust heavy, but neither side had an advantage. Bryan grew weary, wearier still when he realized this encounter was just the beginning.
Finally the English began to waver and Bryan called to Randolph, “There, an opening.” In a stroke of luck or brilliance, Randolph ordered his men forward, driving the schiltron into the opening and splitting the enemy in half. Some of the horsemen fled north to Stirling, others south to the main road. The schiltron had held and thus defeated a more numerous enemy.
Bryan and his comrades watched the English flee, then sat on the ground and took off
their helmets. Weary and soaked in sweat, Bryan fanned himself with his helmet. When they’d rested, they marched to Bruce’s headquarters where they were heartily congratulated.
Bruce clapped Randolph on the back. “That was a job well done, nephew.” He turned to the rest of them and repeated his words of praise. Then he said, “The English cavalry will not take kindly to being defeated by men on foot. They will likely seek to avenge this defeat. You were brave and showed your true mettle today. If you feel you’ve done enough and wish to retire to your homes, that decision is in your hands.”
But to a man they replied, “Send us into battle again, good king, and we shall not fail you.”
The king replied, “Then make ready for battle at first light. And God be with you.”
SOFT, GOLDEN TRESSES cascaded in curtains all around Bryan, obliterating the men seated around the campfire. . . . With a shake, Bryan brought his wayward thoughts of Kathryn under control in order to give his full attention to his king.
As the common soldiers left to find their supper and their beds, Bruce called together his chief commanders on the hill overlooking the battleground. Thomas Randolph was considered a brilliant tactician and natural leader. James Douglas, though quiet and gentle by nature, had earned the sobriquet of Black Douglas for his fearless raids into England. Edward Bruce, the king’s brother, was an impetuous but brave leader. Those three and Robert himself would command the schiltrons.
Although Bryan had fought with Randolph today, tomorrow he would be with Robert Keith. Sir Robert, keeper of the king’s stables, would command Bruce’s five hundred light cavalry, with Bryan as his second in command. Keith was a special friend to Bryan because he’d helped him train Cerin. And while he’d been more than willing to assist Randolph today, Bryan would be glad to return to his regular duties with the cavalry.
They awaited Robert’s orders, as they’d done so many times in the past. Bryan knew that Robert considered these men as sons. And tomorrow, as their chosen king, he would ask them to lead their men into a battle Bryan feared could not be won. The devil take Edward of England and his greedy nobles!
The Price of Freedom Page 21